Standing at a bar in the West End of London, listening to a Spanish barman attempting to explain in stilted Manuel
-quality English (and resorting to repeating words neither he nor his listeners properly understood in a progressively louder voice to compensate for his lack of vocabulary) the concept of mushy peas, or "mushed peas" as he called them, to a party of puzzled French tourists who wanted to order the traditional English dish of feesh and cheeps.Ken
would have been proud. Lee
would be annoyed that the barman wasn't a Black
foreigner. (Can't have these bloody White Europeans off the Mainland taking the jobs that should go to deserving Somali immigrants, don't you know.) I had difficulty keeping a straight face. Everybody else was just confused.